


Your Hand to the Wheel, Your Mouth to His Ear

by moemachina



Category: Clarissa Explains It All (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, M/M, Radio, Road Trip, Unspecified Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28265472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moemachina/pseuds/moemachina
Summary: After the end of the world, Ferguson and Sam drive around.
Relationships: Ferguson Darling/Sam Anders
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Your Hand to the Wheel, Your Mouth to His Ear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coricomile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/gifts).



They were driving near Apopka when the radio reception started to get a little shaky. 

_\--and fun fact! You can probably [static] a molotov cocktail from ingredients you have lying [static] house--_

Sam fiddled with the tuner knob, but the voice only became more faint and garbled. 

“I think her antenna must be failing,” he said. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ferguson said. “I told her the fix was temporary, and that she needed to find a new place to broadcast. But she never listens to me.”

A low gray haze hung on the horizon. 

There were no other cars on the highway. 

_\--sports fans [static] there are reports of refuge for [static] Key West but [static]--_

“We’re low on gas,” Ferguson said. “You didn’t fill the tank after that errand of yours yesterday, did you?” 

“I guess not,” Sam said, looking out the window. Yesterday’s “errand” still remained a sore point between the two of them. 

“Well, it has become a newly pressing problem,” Ferguson said. “Where is the closest gas station?” 

Sam closed his eyes. “I think Turkey Lake is pretty close.” 

“Is it safe?” 

“I guess.” 

“You _guess_ ,” Ferguson repeated in withering tones, and for a moment, Sam seriously meditated on the possibility of unbuckling his seatbelt, opening the passenger side door, and throwing himself out of the car. Anything to get out of spending another minute with Ferguson. 

But his seatbelt remained buckled and his car door remained closed. The empty gray highway continued to roll relentlessly past his window. Everyone had to make sacrifices these days. If Sam’s sacrifice was putting up with the most high-strung and hectoring man in the state of Florida for two weeks, then he was doing pretty good, all things considered. 

Instead, he said, “This side of Orlando has been pretty quiet.” 

“Unlike Titusville,” Ferguson said. 

Sam internally counted to ten before he said, “Had to see it for myself.” 

“Yeah?” And what would have happened if you never came back with our one and only vehicle? I can’t exactly hitchhike to Kissimmee.” 

“Oh, I’m sure you would have come up with a solution, Ferguson. You’re very resourceful.”

Ferguson let out an exasperated sigh. 

“You’ve gotta let this go, man,” Sam said. “I brought the car back. Nothing terrible happened. We should be good now.” 

“Is that how you think it works? You didn’t tell me you were going. I didn’t know what had happened to you until you got back last night. That’s not a good feeling.” 

It was on the tip of Sam’s tongue to say something sharp and joking -- _I didn’t know I meant so much to you, Fergie dude, you’re going to make me blush_ \-- but at the last minute he changed his mind and said, “Yeah, I know. Sorry, man.” 

_\--and coming up, we’ll [static] make your own blackout curtains [static] and [thump] hold on [thump static thump] be back [distant crashing noise] the good fight!_

And then there was merely static. 

Sam and Ferguson both said nothing. 

Then Ferguson said, in a low voice, “It’s gotta be the antenna.” 

“Yeah,” Sam said. “The antenna.” 

“The antenna finally fell over,” Ferguson said. “That’s all. I told her it would happen. She should have known.” 

“Yeah,” Sam said again. 

On the steering wheel, Ferguson’s knuckles were white.

* * *

All the windows of the Turkey Lake Service Plaza had been smashed open, and there was a burned-out shell of a station wagon just outside one of the entrances but other than that, it was not so bad. 

Sam had seen worse. Titusville had been worse. 

Better still, the gas station attached to the Service Plaza still had electricity. Not every place still did, although it was unpredictable: different parts of the power grid were failing at different rates. There were non-electrical ways, Sam knew, to access the gas from the tanks buried deep beneath the gas station, but he had a feeling that they were going to be awkward and dangerous. He was just as happy to put off learning that particular skill for another few weeks. 

“Do you want me to take over driving for a bit?” Sam asked as they pulled beside the pumps. 

“No,” said Ferguson curtly, and Sam shrugged. 

Sam got out to pump gas. Ferguson remained in the car. They hadn’t turned off the radio, so the same unchanging static continued to flood the car speakers, and Ferguson had an intent expression of listening on his face. As if, through sheer force of will, he could resolve the static back into a human voice. 

Sam thought about saying, _She’s going to be okay, buddy, you know she always comes through okay in the end_ , but instead he kept his mouth shut. Ferguson, he knew, would not appreciate his clumsy attempts at comfort. Ferguson preferred to envision the worst-case scenario and then plan for it, ruthlessly and relentlessly. 

Sam unscrewed the gas cap and inserted the pump’s nozzle. He swiped a credit card through the reader, and the little black-and-white screen told him to start pumping. 

If you had asked Sam two months ago -- back when things were “normal,” back in the Before Times -- what technology would outlast an Apocalypse, he would not have bet on “credit-card readers.” He still did not entirely understand why swiping a card at abandoned gas stations still worked. Ferguson had tried to explain it to him -- something to do with automated systems, something to do with satellites -- but it was all vaguely magical as far as Sam was concerned. 

And, obviously, the strange immortality of the credit-card computer systems would become irrelevant in the midst of the slow dissolution of the power grid: its last power line blown down, its last generator blown, its last gas station gone dark. 

There was a name on the front of the credit card in Sam’s hand, but it was not a name that Sam recognized. He tried not to think about what had happened to the person with their name in raised white letters, although -- statistically speaking -- they were unlikely to still be alive. 

The driver-side door opened and Ferguson climbed out. He started walking toward the main building of the Turkey Lake Service Plaza. He did not look back at Sam. 

_His hair is so long_ , Sam found himself thinking with irritation as Ferguson disappeared inside the building.

Sam was always offering to cut it for him -- Sam had started shaving his own head on the regular, it was just simpler that way -- but Ferguson always declined with a supercilious sniff. Sam privately thought that Ferguson couldn’t bear to be that vulnerable for that long, not for the duration of a haircut, not for the length of time it would take for Sam to stand behind him and stroke the back of his neck and gently cut away the damp red tendrils of hair. 

So instead, Ferguson’s hair had gotten long, and it vaguely irritated Sam every time he noticed how long it was getting. He frequently felt an irrational urge to brush it out of Ferguson’s face. 

Sam kept pumping gas until the nozzle make a _thunk_ noise to signal that the tank was full. Then he replaced the nozzle in its holster (not that it probably mattered, not that anyone else would be stopping by this gas station afterward) and screwed back on the gas cap. 

And then he went to look for Ferguson.

* * *

Sam found him inside the darkened building. He was standing in front of the ruined front counter of a KFC Express. Behind the counter, the freezers and the fryers lay tumbled on the ground, and the empty cash registers had been cracked open. 

“Hey,” Sam said. 

“Hey,” Ferguson said, looking around at him, and even in the unlit shadows of the Turkey Lake Service Plaza, Sam could see that Ferguson was crying. 

“Aw, buddy,” Sam said automatically. “She’s fine. You know her. She’s indestructible.” 

And despite his best judgments, he stepped forward to wrap Ferguson in a hug. 

He had intended it to be a blunt, manly bear-hug, but Ferguson flinched back in surprise, and Sam misjudged the distance between their respective bodies, and instead the embrace ended up with Sam’s hands awkwardly clinging to the back of Ferguson’s stiff-as-a-board shoulders and Sam’s face pressed against the crook of Ferguson’s hot neck. 

There was a long silence. Sam could feel the heartbeat drumming through Ferguson’s entire body. 

Neither of them moved. 

And just enough time had passed that Sam was beginning to wonder how he could politely disengage and just how they were going to navigate this weird hug during the inevitable and interminable car-ride back to the base, when Ferguson’s whole body suddenly loosened, like a marionette whose strings had just snapped. 

Sam lifted his head and started to say “So--” and then Ferguson kissed him. 

Sam’s hands were still awkwardly clasped around Ferguson’s shoulders, and after a moment, Sam realized that he was using them to pull Ferguson closer, and that he was kissing Ferguson back. 

In the distance, a siren started to sound. 

The two of them broke their embrace and looked in the direction of the sound. After a moment, it abruptly cut off. 

Breathing heavily, Ferguson said, “That sounded close.” 

“Yeah,” Sam said. 

“We should probably get going,” Ferguson said. 

“Yeah,” Sam said. 

They looked at each other for a second more -- and then they nodded and turned and went back to the car. 

When Ferguson turned on the ignition, the radio blared to life. 

_\--interruption in service but good news, we’ve moved to a second location and we’re going to stay on the air, you lucky ducks. Now, as I was saying before, you’re probably wondering how you can sterilize a wound using common household ingredients. Well, let me explain--_

Ferguson started to cry, and then he started to laugh, helplessly, his whole body convulsing, his head bent low over the steering wheel. 

“Hey,” Sam said, after a minute, “do you want me to drive?” 

“Yeah, okay,” Ferguson wheezed out as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “That’s probably the wise choice. Take the wheel, Sam.”


End file.
